Going Under
by Andi-Lynne
Summary: Buffy's POV during 'Fool For Love'. What *I* think was going on in her head at the time might be a lot different than it actually was, but isn't that so much better?


Going Under  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Pairing: B/S  
  
Summary: Short little ficlet, Buffy's POV during 'Fool For Love'. Probably been done a million times, but I was inspired. Pretty wallpapers!  
  
A/N: I'm trying to control the WB, and not let it control me. So I'm bursting out with little old ficlets that amuse me. Lots of love,  
  
Andi  
  
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Spicy Chicken Wings. Spicy Chicken Wings!! Could he not be an ordinary vamp? One that I could just toss one of my little quips (Which I work very hard on, thank you very much) at him and turn him to dust?   
  
Nope. Not possible. This bleached-blonde moron wants 'Spicy Chicken Wings'!  
  
Not the point. The point is, he wants some. And it's like he'll never stop surprising me with how much like a hum--Nope. Not going there, he's a vampire, he's evil, he looks really hot in this light. . . Bad thoughts, Buffy!  
  
Sometimes--all right, a lot of times--I wish I weren't the slayer. That I didn't have to take care of everybody like a waiter. That Dawnie could just be my annoying little sister whom I'll always love, even if she is a spoiled little brat. That I could just be with someone and not have to worry about keeping secrets from him. And it's those times that I think of Spike.   
  
It used to be Angel that filled these hopes and dreams, but time grows older and I know now that it wasn't what it should have been, that it was *love*, but it wasn't the kind that burns you and consumes you and never lets you go. I think, sometimes, that it could be Spike. . .   
  
But then I remember that this *isn't* my dream world, and Spike isn't even supposed to be my friend, let alone my lover or boyfriend. He's only supposed to be dust. But he doesn't know what I feel, 'cuz right now, all he can think about are his 'spicy chicken wings'. Ass-hole.  
  
Then I move to order, and that *really* hurts. He notices.  
  
"As I thought. Some nasty thing got a taste of you."  
  
And we banter back and forth, until I don't know exactly what we're doing, I just know that I have to throw insults at him. It's a very nice default.   
  
He's talking about important stuff again. He's got this dreamy look on his face, like he's remembering things, which he probably is. I don't expect him to share, and he doesn't. He gives me the edited version, because I'm not worth the time to tell the whole story. I've never given any effort to be considered 'worth the time'.   
  
I know I'm a bitch to him, but what else does he expect? He's the vamp, I'm the slayer, I should be putting him through the washing machine right now along with my clothes. Ooh, clothes off, him with. . . Yum. But off topic, and totally off limits.  
  
We're off at the pool table, and he's lost the dreamy look, and it's replaced by something else. Something I can't recognize. But he's talking again, trying to teach me how to stay alive, which in itself is a big fat contradiction.  
  
I ask how he killed this slayer--the one in China. And suddenly I'm being attacked by neck-grabbing hands and I'm fending off Spike with a pool cue.  
  
"Lesson the first: a Slayer must always reach for her weapon." He changes to his vamp face and continues. "I've already got mine." He shifts back into his human visage, letting go of my neck, and goes on with his little speech.  
  
"A good thing, too. Become a vampire, you've got nothing to fear. Nothing but one girl. That's you, honey. Back then... it was her."  
  
His face takes on a dreamy look once more as he speaks, but it isn't the edited version this time. He's trying to scare me, since he can't hurt me. He's telling me everything. Up until he gets to the part about Angelus, and he trails off. Like he knows I've already got enough on my plate in that direction. But I've learned to get over it. I have a new boyfriend to coddle and try to protect me. A new man to smother me.   
  
Riley is. . . I think I love him, but I know that this isn't the right kind of love, either. Riley is the guy who picks up the pieces when I cry, but I can't tell him why I'm crying. It's not nice to tell your boyfriend that you're crying over another man, especially one he hates. It's not the right thing to do in the first place. But he hurts me. . . Spike, that is. . .   
  
I'll never show it, I'll be the bitch I've always been, make him think I believe him to be not worth the ground I walk on, but his words hurt me more than he could ever believe. And if we could get past all of this, the hurt, the spite, it would still be wrong, and it couldn't work. The world is a vicious place, and it doesn't take kindly to differences. Or me.  
  
And now we're walking out into the alley, and he's talking about the second slayer he killed. Trying to teach me how to *not* get killed.   
  
"How many of my kind reckon you've done?" He asks.  
  
"Not enough." I reply. And it's true, it'll always be true, until I dust him. Because until I dust him, there will always be that one vampire that got away, and I let him. And I know why. I just won't say it.  
  
He nods. "And we just keep coming. But you can kill a hundred, a thousand, a thousand thousand and the enemies of Hell besides and all we need is for one of us- just one- sooner or later to have the thing we're all hoping for."  
  
I'm indignant. "And that would be what?"  
  
He moves in, so that his breath is on my ear and damn, it's sending shivers up my spine like an telephone pole. "One... good... day."  
  
He talks some more, throws a punch at my wound *the bastard*, and we go outside into the ally.   
  
We spar a little, and I get him pinned up to the chain-link fence.   
  
"Lesson the second: ask the right questions. You want to know how I beat 'em?" I release him and he continues. "The question isn't "How'd I win?". The question is "Why'd they lose?"."  
  
"What's the difference?"  
  
He pins me to the wall, the pool cue an inch from my neck. "There's a big difference, love."  
  
We talk and we spar, and insults are thrown, as always. Then he starts talking about the second slayer he killed. He jots back and forth between actually reliving the experience, and sparring with me. Suddenly, he claps his hands right in front of my face and, like always, promises to revel and party in my death. Yay me. I'm cause for a joyous celebration.  
  
But then he tries to kiss me, and completely astounds me. He's not supposed to feel this way, lusty feelings must be suppressed! If not for my sake, then for the sake of puppies and bunnies everywhere! Oh, hell. Spike never gave a damn for those anyway. So out comes the bitch. The one who'll keep everyone in line, 'cuz that's what I have to do. I hate it, but it's the truth.  
  
"Come on. I can feel it, Slayer. You know you want to dance."  
  
"Say it's true. Say I do want to."  
  
I look at him with disgust in my eyes, but it's at myself, not him. I used to be such a sweet little girl, ya know? The ones with the bows and the good manners. . .  
  
"It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you."  
  
I am positively the most frigid bitch in the world.  
  
"You're beneath me."  
  
The cash is thrown at him and I walk away, leaving Spike, again, to pick up the pieces. Just like he always does.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
I'm sitting on the back porch step when I feel him come closer. And I look up to him pointing a gun at me. But he's lowering it, and I can see the worry lines etched in his face.   
  
"What's wrong?" He asks.   
  
"I don't want to talk about it." If I talk about it, it'll be real. And my mother may really be--No. I'm not going to even think about it. I don't want to. . .  
  
"Is there something I can do?" He asks. I don't answer.   
  
He sits down beside me, and tentatively touches my shoulder, but he backs away like he's been burned. So he just sits there, and it's more than I could ever thank him for. Because he's not trying to pry, or do anything, he's just. . . There.  
  
And he's pulling me under even more.  
  
But I don't know what he's pulling me into. And I'm not sure that I wouldn't like it.  
  
But for now, I'll stay this way. Not the bitch, not the slayer, just a girl who's scared that her mother's going to leave her forever.   
  
And he's OK with that.  
  
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A/N: Plz, tell me what you think. I live for feedback. *tee-hee* Lots of love,  
  
Andi 


End file.
